Bear Day Afternoon
by Garmonbozia
Summary: On the day of Children In Need, the Tardis lands at Coal Hill, bringing the Doctor, a huge host of helpers and a big yellow bear on the verge of a nervous breakdown. - My annual fundraiser. It won't cost you a penny, all for this fabulous cause that the Time Lord himself supports each year. This is me doing my bit as a Whovian. Read to find out how you can do yours.


There is so much to do. There are Year 10 papers to mark, lesson plans for the Year 8's need to be submitted by the end of the day, not to mention the departmental meeting at the end of the day, which she's supposed to be chairing and hasn't so much as thought about yet…

These, of course, are all fairly everyday considerations for Miss Oswald here at Coal Hill. But sometimes she stands at the top of this corridor, looking down at the door about halfway along. Supply cupboard. Full of books and rulers and oh, the ever-so-occasional Tardis. She has a lot to do. Clara stands at the top of that corridor and thinks that as loudly and determinedly as she can. Lots to do. It would be absolutely great if this could be one of those days when she walks down this corridor, when that door does not open and she is not dragged inside.

With a quick glance around to make sure the children are all in class and there's no one to see her, she starts out at a little trot. Her eyes are mostly shut. Every step is a syllable, like wishing, like an incantation. "Not-now-Doc-tor-lots-to-get-done-real-ly-please-not-to-day-"

The last syllable is a long, squawking cry, as the door opens and she is dragged inside.

"Doctor, _please_-"

"Oh, I heard, I heard it all there, Miss Clara Oswald's Song Of Isolation and Despair. _Usually_ I'd pay attention to that-"

"Usually?" she cries. "You mean I've passed this door sometimes and you've been waiting here and let me go?"

He looks confused that she even asked. "Obviously. I _respect_ your choices, Clara. Even the P.E. teacher based choices. That's how you missed Pompeii, I went back to see the ancestors, it was great fun, I posed for a statue. But today, Clara, I don't respect your choices, not in the slightest, couldn't care less. C'mon. World-savey time. Need you." He's got that fever in his eyes that could so easily turn to anger. She knows better now than to be scared of it. But it lets her know he's serious, and with a bounce in her step, Clara darts forward to the Tardis. Or she tries. One of those big gnarled hands of his grabs her and stops her. "Where are you going?"

"…Tardis. World-savey time."

"Aye, yeah, but you're not ready yet. You're not prepared in the slightest. Here." He reaches into his pocket and produces what appears to be a white cotton handkerchief, quite large, spotted all over in a dozen bright colours. He has one for himself as well, and proceeds immediately to tie it around his head, covering one eye.

"What do we need eye-patches for?" she says, though she's already starting to copy him, to do the same.

"_Right eye_!" he cries out, and she switches sides. "And it's not an eye patch. Not the way it wasn't an eye-patch the last time it wasn't an eye-patch… No, wait, that wasn't you, that was the last lot-"

But Clara is fully prepared to insist. This is an eye patch. This, matter of fact, appears to be a replica of the eye patch worn by one Mr Pudsey Bear each year. That's why she's perfectly content to tie it on as instructed. Pudsey wouldn't let anyone get hurt. That's what he's there for. Nothing bad, surely, can befall her while she's got that scarf around her head. Covering her… right… e- "Doctor, why does it have to be the right eye?"

"Because that's where they get in. It's to do with the depth perception, if you can't see them getting closer or farther away, they can't get in to your head."

She wants to ask _who_ exactly can't get in, why they would want to get in, what the plan is. But it's world-savey time, and she's wearing Pudsey's scarf. Clara gets the feeling, that might be all she needs to know.

Now, again, she starts towards the Tardis. Again, he puts out his hand and shoves her back. "_Where are you going_?!" he groans in frustration.

A little slower, a little more careful than before, Clara tries again, "…Tardis. World…s…"

"No-no-no-no-no-no, the danger isn't in there. The help is in there."

He reaches out and opens the door. Immediately, he has to step to the side, pulling Clara with him, as Strax bursts out. His eye patch has had to be tacked to the curve of his head with electrical tape, with no shape to hold it on. "Death to the Unknown Enemy!" he yells, "Oh, hello, boy!"

Clara mumbles her hello and he barrels past her, out into the corridor. "No," she says. "Doctor, not the school, not again."

"You say that like I _choose_ where the danger's going to be, Clara. I don't, I just follow it around, like a loyal hound which simultaneously really hates its master." Now he leans forward and shouts into the Tardis, "What's keeping the rest of you?!"

"Sorry, Doctor," comes Jenny's voice. "The box got caught." She shuffles out backward, holding up one end of a huge wooden crate. "Afternoon, ma'am, good to see you again." Clara mutters along with the formalities and Jenny's infectious smile, watching the crate continue until Madame Vastra appears with the other end. Her scarf is just visible, the bright spots showing through the lace of her veils.

The crate is full of similar scarves. And once it's out of the way, there seems to be no blockage to endless parade of familiar and strange faces (some of them both familiar and very strange indeed) that comes streaming out of the Tardis. Most of them pass chattering amongst themselves, maybe only waving to Clara as she stands with her back to shelves full of exercise books. One handsome American steps forward to introduce himself, but the Doctor steps between them. "Long term relationship with a P.E. teacher, Jack, move along."

"I was only going to say hello."

"Yeah, yeah, I know you were. C'mon, pal, work to do."

"Doctor?" Clara mumbles. "Doctor, a toaster just rolled past my feet. I'm sure it was talking."

He stares her. Not understanding, "T… Toaster? You cheeky thing! That's not a toaster, that's my dog!"

A voice from outside the cupboard overhears and calls back, "Is being much bad dog, thinks is being every so smartie! Leela-person am also agrees with her, right-yes?"

"Enough!" the Doctor roars. He goes charging off out into the hall and Clara has no choice but to follow. Or at least, she tries to. She has gotten as far as a spot directly behind him when he whips round. "Wait!"

"Loud!" she retorts. He hardly seems to hear it. He moves her out of the way and charges back to the open Tardis door. "Where is he? Oi!" He's leaning inside. Clara can't see past him, but the thumb he jerks over his shoulder almost puts her eye out. "_Oi_! Bear! Come on, we need you!"

Now he charges back again, pushing Clara ahead of him. Somehow, it didn't seem so bad when all these people and creatures and… everything else, were just walking by her. Now that she sees them gathered, clogging a corridor along most of its length, in the school, ten minutes before the end of a class and there are going to be all those children, now Clara is beginning to feel just a little bit sick. The Doctor leaves her at the wall, leaning on the lockers, and wades his way to a clear space.

Because of genetically engineered strength and his exoskeleton, Strax is able to lift the Doctor up to address the crowd by just one ankle.

"Oh, God," Clara says, covering her mouth.

A large and very soft paw pats her back, coming to rest on her shoulder. As much as she hates the idea of having brought anything with paws into the school. It's a nice gesture. Clara reaches up to touch that paw, and in the process she looks back. A large bear, just as the Doctor said, is standing right next to her. Bright yellow, and like everyone else it wears the scarf tied over its eye. "Oh. Hello, Mr Pudsey."

He waves, but holds a respectful silence and points at the Doctor.

"Are we all done chatting down the back there, Miss Oswald? And for heaven's sake, Romana, will you leave that poor boy alone? He's only human, he's hardly even one percent of your age!"

"Well, I thought you were spoken for?" comes the answer. Pudsey gives Clara a little boost up against his shoulder so she can see, but the woman is obscured by other faces. (In particular, the face of that American, who seems, by signs and gestures, to be asking her out for a drink.)

"It's complicated," the Doctor tells Romana.

A more familiar voice calls out, "Oh, he means yes, dear, he means very much spoken for, alright?"

"Believe me, River, it's complicated. This is not what we are here for!" He says this last so loudly and sharply that even the giggling stops. And giggling, Clara has learned from her year 8s, is a pervasive thing. Giggling, once it begins, doesn't often go away. "You've all seen the video. Except for anybody who was standing behind Dorium, and Clara, who wasn't there. Clara, basically, we had a short message from my future self. He was standing at the end of the human race and needed us to interfere. Basically, humankind falls because of an invasion which starts today, here, at this school. The creatures, we haven't pinned down what they are yet, they take possession of the children via the right eye and use that as a starting point to take over the world."

But how are schoolchildren a good springboard for a hostile takeover? And why this school? Why these children, why today, why the right eye? She opens her mouth to ask one or any of these questions, as a prelude to asking the rest of them. But no sound comes out. A large, yellow paw has been placed, firmly but ever so soft, over her mouth.

"No questions? Oh, Clara, thank you so for understanding, just this once. Now, we all know what we have to do. We have to get these scarves over the right eye of every pupil in these school, and every staff member too, just in case. And we need to get to that right away, so if we could keep the chatting to a minimum and concentrate on our work, please?"

Clara tries to raise her hand, and finds the other paw holding it down, completing the rather stifling bear hug she finds herself wrapped in.

The party moves off toward the assembly hall, Vastra and Jenny still heaving the crate of scarves at the head of it. The Doctor is in the midst of them, determined and encouraging. Clara follows, very nearly at the back, aside from the giant yellow pillow carrying her along.

Ultimately, she jams down the heel of her shoe on the huge foot. Pudsey drops her, and it's very clear he's in pain from the way he holds his head between both paws and shakes it, almost doubling over. "Sorry," she says, and gives him her arm to hobble along on. "But you shouldn't go keeping schoolteachers quiet, you know. I was only going to ask him how on Earth he intends to explain himself, a former caretaker here, coming back with this mad bunch to tie scarves around eyes-"

Indeed, up ahead, things seems to have come to a bit of a stop. The headmaster is holding the doors closed on the eclectic parade. But the Doctor is forcing his way to the front. Reaching into his inside pocket. "Ah," Clara mumbles. "Psychic paper. _Obviously_. Oh, Pudsey… what are we really doing here? It doesn't feel right at all."

Pudsey puts one big sausage finger to his smiling mouth. He leans close, and in behind his hand he whispers in Clara's ear. "You are," she says at the end of his explanation, "one very sneaky bear." She punches his big furry shoulder. He hardly seems to feel it. "I think I'll help you out, Puds." The bear nods and gives her two big thumbs-up. He wraps her little hand in his huge paw and allows himself to be led into the milling crowd.

In the assembly hall, the operation has already begun. Little factions of the Doctor's party have been dispatched to clear up the stragglers, the art students who were elsewhere, the surreptitious smokers out behind the equipment shed.

"Clara!" She turns towards the voice and finds Danny, shoving his way between a group of boys and the gold-and-silk draped Maldovarium staff attempting to protect them from possession. "Clara, why do I feel like, if I want to know what's going on, you're the one to ask?" She smiles, trying desperately to think of an explanation. "Oh no," he says. "No-no-no-no-no, don't say, 'just go with it'. Don't."

"Okay…" she tries. Still thinking, she dimly waves a hand at the bear behind her, "This is Pudsey, by the way. Pudsey, this is Danny Pink, he's a teacher here."

Pudsey waves, and Danny studies the large and apparently very real bear with not a little circumspection.

Clara, by then, has thought of something. "I can say something that isn't just go with it!"

"Fire away…"

"Go and find all the buckets you possibly can. And, something else, God, I'm on a roll now – have you seen the Doctor?"

"He was with the art teachers, when I last saw him."

Clara thanks him and veers off, still pulling Pudsey along behind her. She knows where to go now, and follows the sound of that broad accent, trying to be charming and tie secure knots at the same time, "So I said to Vincent, I did, I said to him, look, she brought all these bloody sunflowers, she did it for you, now stop being a bore and just paint the bloody things!"

"Doctor!"

"Clara, tell these good people to stop laughing at me!"

"Doctor, Pudsey and I have noticed something. A problem."

"Problem? No, no, no, fate of the world, Clara, big invasion, we can't be having any problems, now. Do you hear me? We can't have problems!"

"Well, we do. You see, I told Pudsey how many children we have, right? And Pudsey told me how many scarves he brought, right? And it doesn't add up!"

"Oh, so we'll have a couple left over. We'll wave them like flags, it'll be a party, really good fun-"

"Doctor, _we don't have enough_!" He gasps, sucking in air so deeply she's certain his back must swell out like a balloon to accommodate it all, so loudly the art teachers scatter like frightened kittens. The Doctor sinks back against the wall, one hand on his heart, letting that breath go in several great puffs, hyperventilating like a man who has almost drowned. "It's okay!" she cries, letting go of Pudsey to go to his side. Pudsey goes to the other, one great paw rising and falling. The Doctor watches it, and learns how to breathe properly again. But he is shaking his head as Clara says, "It's okay, it's okay."

"No, it's not," he moans, as derisive and panicked as one of the teenagers. "If just one of these pupils is affected, everything that happened in the video Pudsey brought me will come to pass!"

"No. Pudsey and I have had an idea."

It is just at that moment that Danny arrives with arms full of bucket handles. "What did you want these for?"

"We'll just have a collection," Clara grins, "and I'll nip out for more scarves."

"But where will we get them? Those were the scarves Pudsey showed up with, and he said they were exactly the right pattern and material to keep the evil creatures out and… and I can't believe I fell for that!" He turns around and shoves Pudsey abruptly away from him. "Do I not do enough for you, Bear?! Did I not almost end up with three Amys for you, Bear?! Bear, my friend, my pal, my old mucker, Bear of my hearts, _did I not quite literally sell the shirt off my own back for you?!"_

"Excuse me?" Clara balks.

Stabbing one accusing finger into Pudsey's pudgy chest, the Doctor tells her. "He stole one of River's firearms. He stuck it in the small of my back and made me sell my favourite outfit for charity. I was on live television not wearing any clothes!"

"Ugh…"

"Watch it, Oswald! Watch it, and watch your back when this Bear is about. Believe me when I tell you, Clara, this big yellow blighter is one of the most cunning, the most devious, the most manipulative sods ever to live. He'll do anything to make a bit of dosh for all those good causes Children in Need stands for. You see before you a bear driven _mad_ by the horror that here in the UK there are so many young, vulnerable people, the future of the nation, living below the poverty line, or living in fear, or living with no dreams or hopes or escapes! He's a bear past caring, gone wild with good deeds and kindhearted thoughts! Never underestimate how dangerous a good bear can be made by ignorance and indifference, by all those people who don't think of anyone else, who have money and just keep it. No, Clara, _never_ underestimate the darkness at the heart of a good bear."

Pudsey straightens himself, standing proud and puffed out. He takes a deep, exaggerated bow. It seems only right, after such an introduction. Then he beckons the Doctor close. He raises up that paw again and whispers behind it. The Doctor begins, very slowly, to nod. He sinks as if he's lost some great battle.

Then it is his turn to straighten. Like a diplomat from the losing side of a war, sounding just as calm and sober, he softly admits, "Mr Bear here has just pointed out, I have already informed the headmaster of this establishment that there is a very good reason why all these children are currently being fitted with scarves, and that there will undoubtedly be some very awkward questions should said proceedings not be completed… Or, in short, Clara, grab a bucket and start shaking…"

* * *

><p>[Now, folks, I'm not saying I agree with Mr Pudsey Bear's methods. But I agree with his cause. And I would like to teach that big yellow emotional cripple, who has been hurt so many times, that charity is not dead in the human heart. Let's all prove ourselves to Pudsey – for every like, review, follow, whatever, this fic gets, I will give one of your Earth pounds to Children In Need. I think, if I can show the Yellow Terror all your names, all your good intentions (and all that money), we might be able to save our dear Doctor and his friends some trouble in upcoming years.<p>

It's really simple. You show your support here during the next 24 hours, and I'll turn it into cashy-moneys for Pudsey, for the Doctor, for all those kids and all that amazing stuff that gets done because of C.I.N.

…And, y'know, maybe go out and buy yourself an eye scarf or a pin badge or something too. You'll look really cool.

Big thanks in advance,

Sal.]


End file.
